COMBINED OPERATIONS IN SICILY AND ITALY
Reminiscences of a Canadian LCM Flotilla Engineer Officer
The following excerpt is found in COMBINED OPERATIONS by Londoner Clayton Marks. Though the name of the Engineer Officer is not attached to the story, the Editor assumes he appears in a photo that accompanies Part 2:
Part 3 - Respite and Repair in Malta. The Invasion of Italy
For the Seaman branch the stay in Malta was a holiday, but not so for the maintenance staffs of each Flotilla. After rather hectic negotiations and the cluttering up of signal services with dozens of sane and insane signals it was finally decided to refit craft in the Malta dockyard. I was enjoying the doubtful luck of a stay in hospital at this time but I heard from day to day of progress in underwater and engine repair. It was a colossal job in as much as spares were as scarce as hens' teeth and the war strategy in the Mediterranean called for super speed. The boats were placed in drydock in batches and work proceeded from daylight until midnight with one shift!
In eleven days over one hundred boats were repaired, and though some of the repairs proved defective later, still it was a tremendous effort. Once again the boys came through with the goods when we were in a pinch. This is an outstanding feature of Combined Ops Ratings, they may grumble and grouse when work is slack, but when there is a job to be done, they can be counted on to a man. I was, I think, justifiably proud of the work our Canadian motor mechanics and stokers did in the Malta dockyard. One man momentarily passed out from the terrific heat in an engine room one morning - he carried on for the remainder of the day and didn't report sick till late at night!
In eleven days over one hundred boats were repaired, and though some of the repairs proved defective later, still it was a tremendous effort. Once again the boys came through with the goods when we were in a pinch. This is an outstanding feature of Combined Ops Ratings, they may grumble and grouse when work is slack, but when there is a job to be done, they can be counted on to a man. I was, I think, justifiably proud of the work our Canadian motor mechanics and stokers did in the Malta dockyard. One man momentarily passed out from the terrific heat in an engine room one morning - he carried on for the remainder of the day and didn't report sick till late at night!
While in Malta several malaria, sand-fly fever and cases of desert sores developed. Some were cured in time to sail with us and those that had to remain were sincerely disappointed for after the fall of Sicily it was quite easy to guess our next move would be into Italy itself and they wanted to be in on the mainland job. However we were fortunate in securing eleven Canadian stokers who had recently come from Canada on LCI's.
I was struck by what might be called a 'lion-and- the-mouse' comparison as we moved out of the harbour on the morning of August 27th. One of the Royal Navy's proudest battleships lay at mooring. Surely if ships of her size and grandeur were necessary how puny and frail our fifty-foot boats looked in comparison! Could they both represent a striking force? It looked absurd, and yet the history of Lord Louis Mountbatten's Combined Operations fleet of tiny craft has proven their soundness, aye and well nigh perfection, in carrying our armies to enemy coasts. Even so, the faces of the Sailors on the 'big ship' seemed to be scoffing at our insignificance. However, it is but a fortune of war that the same battle-wagon received severe blows in the Italian invasion and we - well, I'm getting ahead of my story!
"Many Canadians in Combined Ops were involved in Operation AVALANCHE,
the invasion of Italy, September, 1943": Photo Credit - King's Academy
Our trip north was broken the first night at the south eastern tip of Sicily, Cape Passero, for a night's rest. The second stop was the much battered port of Augusta, where we remained for several days. I remember one day here very well. I set out in the morning to obtain a bottle of oxygen and one of acetylene to do some necessary welding. The Base Engineer Officer had used his supply but he thought I could get some from the Army. To do so I would require transport. After going to three transport offices and getting the run around, I finally convinced a Lieutenant Colonel of the urgency of my quest. He supplied a 30 cwt. truck and driver and away we went. On arriving at the place where the supply depot had been we found they had moved about 40 kilometers further on.
Eventually arriving at the depot, I tackled the supply officer. He informed me that another supply Major was the only man who could issue the gas! On the way out to the main road we passed three ten-ton trucks of acetylene and oxygen and I still think the good Lord put them there to encourage me to seek the aforementioned Major! At last he was found about 10 kilos away. Dripping perspiration and with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, it was then 1500, I laid my case. His reply included something about having just supplied a Rear Admiral with forty bottles of each the previous day in Catania, and why couldn't I get mine from said Admiral? I explained that this was already consigned and he reluctantly agreed to my request. But alas, just as I was leaving his tent he told me where to put my empties. It seemed that no full bottles could be issued without return of empties. Now how in hell can a fellow have empties until he has drawn some full ones? The end of the story was that he sticks to his guns and I returned to Augusta at 1800 without any dinner and with a brand new stock of expletives - but one can't operate an acetylene outfit on such gas; even as a wartime measure!
Eventually arriving at the depot, I tackled the supply officer. He informed me that another supply Major was the only man who could issue the gas! On the way out to the main road we passed three ten-ton trucks of acetylene and oxygen and I still think the good Lord put them there to encourage me to seek the aforementioned Major! At last he was found about 10 kilos away. Dripping perspiration and with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, it was then 1500, I laid my case. His reply included something about having just supplied a Rear Admiral with forty bottles of each the previous day in Catania, and why couldn't I get mine from said Admiral? I explained that this was already consigned and he reluctantly agreed to my request. But alas, just as I was leaving his tent he told me where to put my empties. It seemed that no full bottles could be issued without return of empties. Now how in hell can a fellow have empties until he has drawn some full ones? The end of the story was that he sticks to his guns and I returned to Augusta at 1800 without any dinner and with a brand new stock of expletives - but one can't operate an acetylene outfit on such gas; even as a wartime measure!
Just before dusk on September 2nd, a large convoy of craft, small and large, stole quietly out of Augusta harbour and headed northward. We steamed all night and beached just before dawn broke, clear and hot. This day was spent in loading the correct serials, numbers given to Army vehicles, in the right craft and sorting out the craft for the various convoys that were to move off that night. Jake spent the afternoon travelling from beach to beach on our motorcycle - acquired legally(?) in the Sicilian operation - briefing the various crews. By evening, all was in readiness. We had supper on the boats, a culinary feat which I defy any housewife to accomplish better than our boys do it, and spent an hour resting on the sand with some of the Army Officers who were to be our passengers. One Scottish Captain said that he had just heard that someone had made a mistake in the night and we were thus going over twenty four hours ahead of the planned artillery barrage! Humour is the greatest single method of keeping morale up to the skies! (By the way, he was wrong!)
Just after dark that night, September 3rd, we left the beach to join our appointed convoy of LCIs, LCTs and LCAs. This convoy was passing at a certain time close inshore but it was like a game of hide and seek to find them. This done, we proceeded up the coast to Milli Marina, where our particular boat was to pick up a Canadian Brigadier and his HQ staff. The beaches along this part of the coast are paradise for landing craft with about a five to one slope, and were well marked with distinguishing lights. The time set for the final stage of the trip was 0300. We knew the plan was to lay down a heavy artillery barrage from the island across the Straits of Messina. Just as we turned from the coast to proceed due east to the Italian toe, the barrage opened up. And what a deafening roar! It was magnificent to say the least, and even a quarter of a mile off-shore we could feel the concussion from the guns.
"Artillery being landed during invasion of Italy at Salerno, September 1943.
Troops bring artillery ashore at Salerno in September 1943. The MP in fore-
ground ducks from a near-by German shell hit. Photo Credit - Wikipedia
Troops bring artillery ashore at Salerno in September 1943. The MP in fore-
ground ducks from a near-by German shell hit. Photo Credit - Wikipedia
By the time we reached mid-channel a fog was settling down and this was turned into a good imitation of London's foggiest weather by the smoke from the exploding shells as we neared the coast. Navigation was difficult, but we managed to keep on the stern of our guiding M.L. With all the racket, plus a general expectation of a heavily opposed landing we expected to hear enemy guns opening up at any minute. Nothing happened - we crept in closer - still nothing but the pounding of our own guns, then one of the Brigadier's wireless sets began to pick up messages. "Red Beach unopposed" and later, "Green Beach unopposed"! By this time we were able to dimly see the outlines of the hills through the smoke and fog. Coming closer still, we could see the troops of the initial wave walking along the beach. By this time invasion craft of every description were milling about. What a sight! On the beach, while the troops were unloading, gay banter could be heard from the boats' crews. And so easy was the first permanent invasion of Europe! How true Churchill's words proved, "We shall strike the soft under-belly of Europe!" Nowhere on the toe were the landings opposed by a single shot, nor was a single enemy plane in sight overhead. But there were planes, ah yes, the faithful Spitfires droned reassuringly as dawn broke.
This was but the initial landing in Italy. Our next job was to act as ferry service across the Straits to keep a steady stream of vehicles and supplies to Monty's Men. This was first done from Teressa and later from beaches north of the Messina harbour. In the latter place we were able to billet the Flotilla in houses close to the beaches. The various crews each had their own Italian boys to clean up after meals and tend to their dhobie (laundry). Pay for this service consisted of 'biscottis'. The work dragged on till once again the monotony of it got the better of nerves at times. Great was the rejoicing when on October 4th after disposing of our craft to Flotillas going to Naples and Toranto we were drafted to a small Combined Ops carrier for passage to North Africa. During our month on the scene of this operation, not a single enemy plane was sighted, with the exception of one or two that got through to the landing beaches on the Italian side. Thus the Sicilian operation proved the most difficult of the two, just the reverse of our expectations. But then this war is a war of surprises isn't it!
In this account I have purposely neglected to mention numerous escapades into Italy. On their days off the Ratings - and Officers, I must confess - did go on the scrounge and sight-seeing. The very tip of the toe of Italy is very similar to Sicily in many ways. Vineyards abound and the people were very friendly. There was one expedition I do remember, when our maintenance staff took a reporter from the Montreal Star on a trip. We landed at Scilla, looked over the town, including the local headquarters of the Fascista and came away with a tiny salute gun on the bow of our maintenance duty boat. We found the gun lying dejectedly on the slanting bridge deck of a partially sunken Messina-Reggio ferry boat. It was one of the many boats the Germans had used to escape across the Straits when they were pushed out of Sicily. It will be many a day before that regular ferry service is resumed, the boats are sunk and Messina itself is a shambles of the first order. Not a single building in the city proper is intact. Everywhere one sees the ravages that modern war metes out to any unfortunate city that lies in its path.
And so for the last time (or will it be the last time?) we saw the shores of Sicily recede in the distance, but we weren't looking back, our eyes and thoughts were to the African coast. It was the first step of our voyage back to England. We landed at D'Jid Jelli where we were placed in a camp on the site of an auxiliary landing field. After a few days, much to the joy of everyone, our journey was resumed, to Algiers, thence to Gibraltar and out into the Atlantic.
Please link to Short Story re Sicily, "An Officer's Reminiscences" Part 2
Unattributed Photos by GH
Please link to Short Story re Sicily, "An Officer's Reminiscences" Part 2
Unattributed Photos by GH
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